New Britain Herald Newspaper, June 24, 1927, Page 20

Love’s Embers Adele Garrison’s Al “Revelations of a Wife” Beginning a New Ser Rokert Savarin and Harry Under- wood Dragged Out of the Past. There was something so whimsi- cal as well as childishly vindictive in Mr. Veritzen's referenze to “that archaic artist, Robert Savarin,” that my dismay ot the task which he asked of me vanished in the mirth which his speech brought forth. I laughed outright, and with an odd, startled glance at me, he joined in my merriment. “I suppose I am absurd as well as alliterative,” he said with a little | grimace. “But I rjust confess to a distinct prejudice against that man, Savarin. Don’t misunderstand me. I yield to no one in my admiration of his genius. He probably is the most oustanding landscape artist of the country today. And a2 is a most likable chap, 1 understand. But he certainly isn't my idea of a life com- panfon for my old friend, Lillian Underwood. Imagine an exemplifi- cation of modern feminism united to a masculine early Victorian —I am sure he goes back that far at least in his ideas. About two years ago, however, I was sorrowfully certain that such a joining of divergent per- sonalities was imminent. Then Sa- varin suddenly departed for Europe, and I breathed more freely., I've been hoping ever since that the affair was definitely offff. 1 suppose | it is distinctly forbidden to ask you | if my hope is justified.” “Your supposition 18 eminently correct,” I told him, trying to soften the note of decision in my | voice with a smile. 1 certainly was sailing between Scylla ind Charyb. dis, 1 said to myself grimly in try- ing to keep falth with L:lian with- cut offending my temperamental employer. But not for anything in the world would I speak to anyone of anything so vitally personal to my friend as her frisndship with Robert Savarin, “IForgive me!™ he said with cour- teous contrition. “It is a question T should not have asked. But here we are in Mrs. Underwood's street, | and you have not given me your decision as to telling her about the manuscript 1 have receiv:d which I OLD MAN COYOTE GETS A SHOCK. By Thornton W. Burgess. ‘What pleases one may not please two; Where'er true. you go you'll find this —DMother West Wind. Very proudly Old Man Coyote was trotting along through the Old Pas- | ture headed toward his home. At his | heels trotted Mrs. Coyote. Every mo- | ment or two Old Man Coyote would turn his head to look buck at her. She would have been trotting by his | side had there been room, but in the old cowpaths of the OI1 Pasture| there was not room for them to trot | along side by side, so Ol1 Man Coy- ote led the way. At last he reached his home, which he had always considered th finest home'in the Old Pusture. The entrance was beneath some big rocks. It was where it coutd not pos- sibly be dug open by men and it had an excellent back door. “Here we are, my d Man Coyote. “Here is Lome.” I think, my dear, you mean your old home, don't you?” said Mrs. Coyote swectly. “'Of course,” said Old Man Coyote. *Ot course it is my old Lome, but it ulso is your new one. Welcome to & " said Old your mnew Mrs. Coyote grinned slightly, but ske didn't let Old Man Coyote see ber. She obediently went inside, when he stepped aside for her to do | s0. He followed her.in. Ly and by she came out the back door and trotted around to the frert door, out of which Old Man Coyotz presently poked his head. “Well, my dear,” said he, “what do you think of it now?” inquired ©0ld Man Coyote. “I thin aid Mrs. Coyote, gen- tly, “that you must have been very ccmfortable here. I Hope you won't wind leaving it.” Such a funny look as swept over 01d Man Coyote's face. He scrambled | out hurriedly. “What did I under-| stand you to say, my dear?” he in- quired. “I said,” replied Mrs. Coyote, “that 1 hope you won't mind leay- ing this home of yours.” “But we aren’s going to leave it!” cried Old Man Coyote in aston- | ishment. “Perhaps we aren’t, but 1 am,” saide Mrs. Coyote. “You my dear, while this may have suited to | your needs, it isn't at all suited to | Loth your necds and my needs, 1 couldn’t think of making my home hiere.” “But—hut—but where make our new home?"” 014 Man Coyote. “We've got to make a new one,” ! replied Mrs. Coyote with an air of | decision that left Old Man Coyote without a word to say. You it had never entered his head that he would have to leave that very com- fortable home. He had thought th Mrs. Coyote avould be delighted with it, and here she was calmly telling | him that they would have to get a | new home. “If course, my shall we i | | stammered | r,” said he, “if | you want & new home, we shall| have to have a new home. T've al- ways thought this was the very best | place of anywhere around and 1’ hardly know just where to look for | a place to dig a new house' | “You won't have to look, m"l dear” replied Mrs. Coyote. T know exactly where our new home | 18 t8 be. T picked out the blau\ some time ago. In fact. I picked it | | crumb | salad, iced cccoa. | new potatoes, buttered minged beets | point | fitty bsorbing Sequel to am sure is from her husband.” “I will tell her that,” T promised Mm promptly, glad that the other embarrassing question had been so definitely shelved. *“And may I ask you that, if you recelve further news concerning Mr. Underwood——" “I shall let you know it at once,” he said. Then his eyes grew quizzical, “I don’t know that I am doing the right thing,” he said. “As I remem- ber him, Harry Underwood was a most fascinating devil. Perhaps I may regret having raised intriguing speculation in your mind concerning him, His smile pointed the ¢udacity of his words. 1 was thankful indeed that the car had come to a stop, and that I was ablo to evade an answer by an exclamation at the sight of Lillian standing upon th» section of the third floor balcony whick ran in tront of her room. Those old- fashioned balconies running across eoch story of the old hoiel were, I knew, its chief attraction for Lillian, “There is Mrs. exclaimed, rising from th: car seat. Mr. Veritzen at once he'ped me to alight, and his hand held my arm ssively for an instant before he ased me. “Do you know how deliciously provocative you are?” he murmured in so low a tone that I was sure cven the attentive Ottd could not hear him. 1 was furious at the flush that came into my cheeks at ‘his words, but thankful that he did not see it. 1n answering to my wave o{ the hand Lillian was signiiiing us, and Mr. Veritzen was saluting her exagger- ly with uplifted stick. DBy the o) our greetings wers exchanged, and Lillian had beckoned us up- stairs, I had regained my com- posure. But even more fervently than when Philip Veritzen's pro- posal for a day in the country was first made to me, did I thank my particular little joss that Lillian was to be a third member of our group. (Copyright, 1 Newspaper Fea- ture Service, Inc.) But we aren't going to leave it,” cried Old Man Coyote in astonishment. out before I met you. When I ound it I said to myself, “This is where we are going to live.,” “But if you hadn’t met me then, how did you know that we were go- ing to live together?” inquired Old Man Coyote, looking puzzled. “I knew,” said Mrs. Coyote, ‘frqm the moment T escaped from that hateful cage when it upset. The moment I found myself free I be- gan to plan for our new home.” “But,” protested Old Man Coyote, looking much puzzled, “you ran away from me for ever 50 long.” “Of course I did,” replied Mrs, Coyote. “I was just making sure of “Oh!” said Old Man Coyote, and shook his head as if he didn't un- derstand yet. (Copyright, 1027, by T. W. Burges: The next s “Mrs. Coyote Takes Charge Menas for the Family Breakfast—Fresh apricots, cereal, cream, crisp broiled bacon, bread griddle cakes, syrup, milk, coftee. TLuncheon—Open combination sandwich, banana and strawherry Dinner—Hot veal loaf. creamed celery and cabbage salad, maple nut ice cream, plain cake, milk, coffce. Open Combination Salad cup grated cheese, 1 cup chopped cold boiled ham, 1 spoon grated onion, 1°s pepper, 1 teaspoon papri spoon butter, 4 egg buttered toast. Rub tomatoes through a strainer. Remove seeds and pith from pepper nd parboil five minutes. Rub cff n outer ocvering. Cut flesh in iin strips. Combine tomato pulp, grated cl ham, on pepper and papr Tiring to soiling over a low fire. Do not let Add butter and eges slightly and stir and cook by the s > fire until’ the eg re set. at one on hot huttered toast. s served than for 4 squares hot | boil. have for mor: grocer Extract, Famous Willia liost root heer TS, As Williams' Root Beer for %&?‘e 3 Coucas NEW BRITAIN DAILY HERALD, FRIDAY, JUNE 24, 1927. My Sons Swee JLYSIRAIED AND COPYRIGHTED BY JOHNSON FEATURES INC. WHAT HAS HAPPENED: Phillip Wynne Tracy IV has had a childish engagement with Natlee Jones. Then ‘he becomes interested in Lyra Hilliard, an old friend of his mother's, and finds out he is fall- ing in love with her. The whole affair, however, sink into nothingness because America enters the World war. Phil's regiment is sent to the front soon after arriving in France, and Phil is wounded whilé on a dangerous mission. Rod is killed try- ing to save his friend, and Phil re- ceives the croix re guerre for brav- ery, While recovering in the south of France, armistice is declared and Phil is sent to Coblenz, rn Meeting certain requirements, awarded a scholarship in a university, and returns to aris His mother, not having heard from him for months, decides to go to France to hunt him, and Major Aukland, who is devoled to Anne Tracy, accompanies her. Unexpeet- edly she comes face to face with her son. The shock proves a great strain on them both, and they soon par Phil to g0 to his room and Mrs. Tracy to starc on a shopping spre Phil comes to breakfast with his mother the next morning and they start to tell each other" all about | A Here the story further unfolds— P CHAPTER Talking Over “I think that per! n, you have more to tell than 1,” said Ann. Huntington Tracy. “You are tco young to show the scars of war, dearest.” Phillip Tracy gave a little nervous shudder which his mother was quick to interpret. “Not so 1uch happened to me ex- cept my waiting and waiting for you. Where' shall I hegin?” “Tell me about Natlce, Mother.” “To tell the truth illtp, 1 don't know much about N 1 never did_know very much about her. I coukd mever get near fo ler some- way.” h AV Natlee he always scnsed that you did not like her, Mum. “Perhaps, Phillip,” confessed his mother, “I was always a little jeal- ous of her. said this, Mrs. Tracy bent over and lightly Kissed the tousled brown head that was lying in her lap. “You had no need to be jealous of her, dear. She always had the greatest admiraiion for you and a great desire to please you at all Natlee is the finest and girl 1 have ever known, se I have alw. known that, that I have been afr of her. Phillip, 1} since you ha that 1 was very se 1 wanted you to lov the world, dear. “We women alw to love us best; we never scem to understand that souie girl will come into their lives as we came into the of their fathy nd we will no e first in their hearts. “I presume, dear, that I was never afraid of you really falling in love with any other girl but Natlee. After you had gone we did see mo; of cach other for a while, bu there was a constraint between us. “She accused me, that morning she came to sce me after you had enlisted, of giving my consent to your going hecadse I would rather you dead, if need be, than mar- 1 to her.” atlee did not say that, Mother, did she?” asked Phil, suddenly sit- ting up and turning so that he could look at her. “I think so, dear. that morning v well and 1 am sure she said these words, ‘T have always loved Wynne cver since we id found out v from me h about you. ve 1 remember “I, know you .| you would never s | yours ¢ me best of all | ¥$ want our sons were little children, I am mot ashamed to tell you this, for today I have a feeling of tenderness to- ward him that I expect is a part of {the maternal instinct born in all girls, That is the reason why I have always taken him back when he has returned to me; that is the reason I shall aways be waiting for him'.” Phil clasped his mother's hand a grip that hurt. hen she added: ‘I have known | since I was 15 that you did not want | Wynne to marry me, but I hoped that in time you would see I was ps better for him than any other girl he knew. However, after that night of the party I knew it was not to be. I knew that although acknowledge it to 1, you would do almost any- | thing to scparate us!’ Of course you can Phillip, how this agitated { me, for I had to admit that she was | vight. *‘Perhaps you think it is common for me to talk so plainly about your son to you, she continued. ‘I shall | never do it a; , and J should not have done it now, if I did not feel that 1 am in danger of losing him forever.” And then, Phillip, she said this strange thing: ‘I love Wynne; 1 will never love any one else, and |1 understand him better than any other person in the world, with the | possible exception of Rodney Max- well! “\We falked quite a while after Phillip, for I wag a little touched breause she said 1 did not understand you. 0 inally she said: ‘Mrs. Tracy, you | would not have given your consent cnlisting if you had not cen him dead than married {to me. You are determined that I shail lose him’ Anne Tracy stopped for a moment {and Phil asked, “\What did you say | to that?" “I put my arm about her should- ers and answe ‘No, Natlee, 1 < [ let him go to save him for yor Ther another pregnant si- lence and then Phil said: “Perhaps it would have been better if vou had let us marry before 1 came away.” Would you have done -that, son, even if I had raised no objections?” | “Perhaps not at that time, but I | would have done so any time be- 'S and then brought out the words—"the party Mrs. Tracy blushed. She kne: [ that Thil was thinking of Lyra Hil- liard would have liked to have |denounced her, but she did not | know how to do so. Phil also would have liked to have told his mother about her friend, and his momentary infatuation for her. Instead, he said, *Mother, would you be very unhappy if we r home in France?” made such a gesture se that I’hil had to take his d from her knee. “What do you mean, Phillip? Surcly you have not become so in {love with Paris in a month that you want to give up your own country and live over here Don't you know that even if I did—for love of you— forsake my home and came to this lalicn land, Natlee would never do s0." “I do not expect her to do so. I had a lett tlce a few days before the in which she told me all ahout Jerry Kenyon. It was a strange letter, but T gained (from it that at last Natlec had grown ired of being ‘always wait- ing for me,’ and that she was on the | point of accepting a better and more {stable man. The letter made me unbappy for a time, and I went - Argonne, hoping«that 1 would ‘go west;' my seemed so futile. omet! nside of me made me ¥ on. Although I was half-sick and completely discouraged, that will love ‘Cherie. fearts %1DA McGIONE GIBSON. something kept me alive until after the armistice, when at Le Blanc I read of the chance—the remote chance—by which I might come to Paris as a student of the Sorbonne. I am afraid I told a good many lies to get that scholarship, but perhaps the Good God knew that it if were again be worth anything in this world. “Anyway, the offer did come to me, and it brought with it another chance for happiness.” Anne Tracy stirred, and Phillip got up and stood before her. She was glad of ‘that, because she was afraid he would -feel that she was trembling. “There are wonderful openings for a young man, Mother, with a little moncy over here. I know that I will | {be happicr in France “Have you written this to Natlee, Phil? Not vet, but I did answer her letter and told her that I could see she had grown tired of waiting and not know when I should go back to the States, it would not be fair to her to be kept | waiting for a man who, with gas, shell shock and wounds, could not 1easure up to Jerry Kenyon or any of the others who stayed at home.” “Phillip, did you expect Natlee to |accept that excuse?” “Yes, Why not? 'It was the truth § 5 | “Dear, don't lie to yourself. It was| only half the truth. Tell me the whole truth. What is her name?" Instead of answering directly, Phillip said, “Do you know we have | not had breakfast? I'm beastly hun- Bry - Anne Tracy started to pull the bell cord which was beside her. She had arranged for breakfast at 10 o’clock. | Phillip had come earlier. Before she did so, there was a tapping at her door, and the man | brought in the ample breakfast she had ordered the evening before. While the waiter was arranging {it on the table, she slipped into her | dressing 100m and put on a street tgown. When she came out she found Phil gloating over the table. | “Good heavens, Mum! Do you | want tg spend all your money in one place and at one time?” he asked with smile. Six strawberries as large as czg |plums, from Nice, each one on its |little bed of leaves; heside them a |dish of Normandy clotted cream, | wonderful brioche, unsalted butter, |scrambled eges and coffee ,with cream and sugar. Seating his mother quickly, Phil | tried to give her three of the straw- berries, but she would take only two, after much persuasion. together after the war, to be a hap- | py memory all your life long.” Ull get your wish, young 1ady,” Thil assured his mother, call- {Ing he the name he did at times {when he was most pleased at some | extravagant thing she had done for | him Both of them felt better when | they setiled back with the second {cup of coffee and a cigaret. It was | then that Anne Tracy asked her son the same question he had asked her an hour ago. “Tell me all about fit, .. =on." CHAPTER XLV Phillip's Latest Sweetheart “Well, you see, Mother, when I { first came down here T did not have {a cent. T had sent home for money, | but T had not received it. A pal had {lent me a few hundred francs— | enough to pay my tuition and get me started with decent underclothes, |collars and handkerchiefs, | number of the hest families in | Paris had opened thelr doors to ns, and T found myself hilleted at the house of one of the Sorbonne pro- | fessors. Just how T came to be so {lucky T do not know.” Looking at her son, who with his ! breakfast had gotten a faint color {in his face, Anne Tracy thought she }roum easily tell, even in his shabby fold A. . uniform, he was mighty |g00d to lnok at. | “Anyway.” he continued, |one of the best places, “The professor once a week holds ia kind of evening party where all {the the smartest literary people of | Paris come. | “At the very first one that T at- |tended, T met Pa | “And he had a sister,” interrupted his mother. | Pat is a woman, Mother dear—a |very heautiful woman," | “You say ‘woman,” Phillip. T hope ,¥ou have not again become mixed h a woman older than your- “I drew The moment Anne Traey said this she could have bitten her tongue. By its slip, she had told that she knew | about Lyr 5 Phil's pale suffused with color. but he answered calmly, “I do not know, Mum, what you mean by being ‘mixed up' with any one. If v possibility you should mean that T am thinking of marrying Pat, |T must tell you in all seriousness, he s beautiful — a divorcee ! the future. “I want this, our first breakfast |, with a child four years old who is adorable. She is the owner of one of the largest silk factories in France, but it has been almost ruin- ed by the Germans. She is in love with me. With the money I have, I could probably, in a few years, put her factorfes on a paying basis. “Frankly, since Rod has gone, I have no yearning to go back to America. The boys I used to know are mostly those who did not get over here at all. The last two years have blotted out all the gay, incon- sequential pleasure-loving ideas, or lack of ideals, that T had. “Pat has suffered from the same great catastrophe in the same way that I have. “She has lost her factories—her husband.” “Let me see, Philllp. How old are you?” “Why do you harp on that, Mother? What has ags to do with it?. Do you know that I have never been much interested in a girl un- less she was older than 1? You will forgive me if I say that probably vou are to blame for my predilec- tion for older women, “I have always associated so much with you that you have spoiled me for very young girls.” “Phillip, please do not say that. It would break my heart if I thought that because you and I have been so close together, you have been cheated cut of that glorious com- radeship and understanding that youth gives to youth.” “Don’t you worry about me, Mum. 1 don't feel that I have missed anything, and for my sake, will you reserve your judgment until you see Pat? I know you will love ‘Cherie.” She is the cutest youngster I have ever seen. I really think she likes me better than her mother.” “And so it's all off again between you and Natlee, Phil?" “Well, from her letter, I thought she wanted her freedom. Did she send me any particular word? “She said 1 could tell you any- thing 1 pleased.” “There you sce, Mother darling, if Natlee still loved me she would have sent me some particular mes- sag. T askf‘d'hr'r.l‘hilll)\, if she still loved you." “What did she say?" “Her answer w “I thought I did once, but now I don’t know, and I will not know until I see him again Phillip langhed somewhat scorn- fully. “I don’t think the sight of me at present would count much in my favor, do vou, Mother dear?"” “Well, there was another thing that she sald, and I am not betray- ing any secrets - when 1 tell it to vou, for she said T might, it I want- ed to do so. These were her words —I remember them, for 1 was struck with their seriousness: This war, Mrs. Tra has made such changes not only in my life, | but in my outlook on life, that T' got to se= Wynne before I plan for “When she receives my letter in answer to the one she wrote me, she will make a decision immediate- ly. I've got to go to recitations now, Mother. You see, I am going to | the Alliance Francaise as well as the Sorbonne, which I cut this morning for my visit with you. I want to be able to speak perfect French when I leave France." “But, dear boy, I thought you just told me you were not going to leave France “Slip of the tongue, Mother dear.” ‘Are you sure it was not a slip back into wisdom? Be careful, Phil, you know your impulsivencss always has gotten you into trouble.” “I have told Professor Bouchet that you are here, and that I am coming to live with you. He has in- vited you to dine with him on next Wednesday. Where are we dining tonight, Mother dear?” asked Phil- lip, ignoring his mother's warning. “I don’t know. 1 promised Major Aukland that we would go to dinner with him.” “I wonder if he knows that it is strictly against rules of an enlisted man to dine with an officer.” “He possibly does, dear, but any- way, I am sure of one thing. and that is, it he dines with Mrs. Tracy he will have to eat at the same table with Private Phillip Wynne Tracy e ‘Hurrah for democracy! Now that we have made the world safe for it, we might as well practice it.” “Phillip, your hurt me by being so flippant.” “I don’t mecan to, dear, but I con- fess I am a little curlous to know what the major will do when he “Don’t you think that would be rather silly, dear?” “I certainly do not, ‘my son. You argtoo modest.” Well, we will talk about it some day. I must run now.” .Phll put his arms about his moth- er and drew her to him. “Gee, Mum,” he said, “I don't know how many Kinds of a fool I made of my- self yesterday, but in all my life I have never been so happy over any- thing as I am to have you here with me. “We wil see Paris together, and it will be some seeing, I'll tell the world.” E ‘When Phil had left her, Anne sat down to think. She berated herself for interfering with his love affair with Natlee, for she had come to think that if she could see him safe- ly married to Natlec Jones, she would be content. This new entanglement was seri- ous. The woman was rich. She could marry, and she wanted to marry. She probably had a nice home, which of course appealed to Phillip, who had hardly been in one for two years. She was more alluring than if she had not been married, and Phil, lonely and a little homesick—or. rather a dittlesick for a home—had said to himself, “Here at least is an anchor.” Paris fascinated him and—and— well, it looked as though she were going to be a grandmother immedi- ately by virt of her son's ac- quiring a ready-made family. She began to laugh, and then she found herself sobbing. She did not hear a rap at her door, necither did she know that Major Aukland had followed it into the room. “Anne, what is the matter?” he said, coming toward her and lifting | her face from the cushions. “I did not hear you knock, John,” she answered rather severely, for she knew her face was swollen and her eyes were red. “Forgive wie, dear, T did rap, but when I heard you sobbing, 1 think I lost my mind. 1 opened the door | and came in, What is the matter, Anne?” “John, Phillip is going to marry a French divorcee with a child four a wallop, Your Health How to Keep t— Causes of Iliness BY DR. MORRIS FISHBEIN iditor Journal of the American Mo Association and of Hy- geia, the Health Magazin For the first time in advertising history, posters of women smoking | cigarettes appeared on the bill- | boards some months ago.. | Dr. J ¥. Williams, however, | points out that smoking by women has not yet lLad gencral approval, | for women do not smoke openly on the streets, although innumerable women may he seen smoking in lio- staurants and in the lobbies ygienic aspects of the ques- tion are still a matter of doubt. In general, the statlement may be made | that smoking in moderation never | appreciably shortened the life of | any human being. On the ofler ! hand, smoking to excess brings into the body significant amounts of poi- sonous substances, so that trainers of athletes are inclined to warn their charges against to be considered, because some per- sons arc.more sensifive to the ef- fects of nicotine and the other in- gredients of tobacco than are others. In nursing mothers who smoke excessively, nicotine may be found in the breast milk, and obviously affect the infant. A French ian has asserted that wet who smoke or chew tobacco | Oriental knows I am coming down to dinner with you?" ‘I'm not. wil be proud to dine with a youth wearing.’ ‘Oh, that,” said Phil, touching his eroix you know, but I thought perhaps you would like to sce it.” Anne Tracy took the bit of ribbon ! with its dangling insignia in her hand. Then she raised it to her lip “You did not write me, Phillip, said, “just how you gained this ation.” | “I swam the Marne.” “Oh, Phillip,” exclaimed his mother, still holding his cross to her cheek in a caress, ou and 1 will have to visit it some day at the very place you swam across it."” 'Merely Margy, An Awfully Sweet Girl John Aukland, my boy, | who can wear that medal you are | | guerrer. “I don't very often wear it. It looks very like swank, | 1 cooli Very chic and practical is this beach hat of rough blue and white straw with a red and white | [ | | can poison the babies they nurse,’ as evidenced by symptoms of die gestive disturhbances, restlessness, shortness of breath and similar dise orders. On the other hand, in the experience of’an American speciale ist in discases of children, harm has not been observed in babies nursed by mothers who smoked a great deal, Dr. Willlams is inclined to cone sider the subject from the psychoe logic side as well ay from the phy: cal aspect. crecy associated © with smoking by women is detrimental to character and that a bad effect will be had, unless the woman who smokes will do so openly whenever she desires to do so, regarding only the com- fort of others, and without regard to their disapproval on what are called moral lines. Nurses and proe fessional women engaged in service to the public must naturally cone sider first the public that they serve. FLAPPER FANNY SAYS: g REO.U. 8. PAT. OFF, 01927 BY NEA SERVICE, INC. A man pursues a girl unlll‘ she catches him. RAINSONG, . ITTER-wee—wee! Twis. ter-wee—we: 4 A yellow-and-gray bird sat just outside Emily's window. rain was falling . . . . but still it happy rain,” Emily said. “I'm surprised it doesn’t get wet. 1f1had feath- ers all over me perhape I'd go out in the rain without a cap or coat or umbrella. . What fun that would be! g 2 “And T WISH 1 could ssy Twitter-wee—weeeo’_like_that little bird.” -~ “Twitter-wee—weeese!” "an- swered the yellow-and-gray bird in the rain. Relief afing Rashes, Itching, Scald. ing, Sunb B, Sore 1;&1:’5::'«:: of Infants, Child; Instant for 4 asktor Horlick’s The ORIGINAL \Malted Milk P g Ufion retiring, drink a hot cupful of lolick’s,” and noteitsquieting effect upon the tired brain and nerves. It in- ducessound,refreshingsleep,fromwhich one awakens rested and invigorated, peak. It ties under the chin. (h NOSY LOOKS, THROWN —| MY TURN_ NEXT! DONT TRY IT, _/ [ mangy, HES A " D NOY © 190, King P Syndiss. foe. Crot B rgbe ramrad. CHGEEOHGOSHCH HOHI | DONT DARE —1 LooK ! " Free sample sent u&ng}r‘i‘g ;_1‘ :t e He fecls that the ses